


Rainy Day Paris

by happydaysahead



Category: Sherlock (TV), The Night Circus - Erin Morgenstern
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Magical Realism, Elemental AU, F/F, Female John Watson, Female Relationships, Female Sherlock Holmes, Female Sherlock Holmes/Female John Watson, Femlock, HiatuStory June Challenge, Magical Realism, Paris AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-22
Updated: 2017-07-11
Packaged: 2018-11-17 06:03:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,672
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11269458
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/happydaysahead/pseuds/happydaysahead
Summary: It is 1950s Paris. Sherlock Holmes and Joanna Watson meet on a rainy day, in a cafe, and magic is in the air.





	1. Chapter 1

A twinkling of bells above the door reclaimed Sherlock from her thoughts as she sat staring unfocused towards the window. A gust of wind swiped at the curtains near the front of the cafe, and the heavy rain tried it's best to follow the newest customer into the store. Sherlock paid them no mind, and reached for the delicate china cup in front of her. To her dismay, the Jasmine tea she had looked forward to had gone cold in her mental absence. She sighed. More time must have passed in her mind palace than she had anticipated. And yet, she was still soaking wet. Drops of water landed on the wooden table from her waterlogged blue blouse as she set the tea cup back on its coaster. Her dress skirt was not much better, and she didn't have to look down to know that her navy trench coat was creating a puddle where it hung on the back of her chair. Sherlock turned back to the window and considered both her reflection and the rain. What was the use of being a magician if she could not use her powers for convenience?

Paris during a storm was a dynamic distortion of images in motion, though no doubt sounds, smells, and texture added to the chaos past the flimsy glass barrier. Tiny rivulets of muted cityscape flowed down the window panes into the waiting grills of sewers along the roads. The people on the streets were shadowy waifs, ephemeral and eternally drowning as they traveled on mosaics of cobblestone and concrete. Against this thunderous backdrop Paris could be exciting, quaint, maybe even romantic, but right now Sherlock found it all very dull. And wet, of course. She had been on her way back to her apartment from an afternoon of museums, galleries, and magnificent landmarks. It was now nearing evening, and she was loathed to be trapped by this torrential downpour when she could be at home, adding her notes to her study of magics and working on her illusions. Sherlock was tempted at this point to just walk out in a giant air bubble, but she knew it was too dramatic and careless, even for her. Besides, Mycroft would never let her hear the end of it; she was always going on about how people were all goldfish, imagine seeing Sherlock walking around in her very own reverse fishbowl. But as it was, She could not bear to wait idly any longer, the feeling of waterlogged had begun to spread to her brain and that was unacceptable. With another sigh, Sherlock turned her attention to the interior of the coffee shop and its occupants as she cautiously began to dry her clothes with a light breeze under the table. She would be heading out into the rain again soon, but she refused to walk out of here as a human puddle.

To the restaurant's benefit, the cozy little establishment was a comfortable respite, it's warmth made even more appealing in contrast to the harsh weather. Men and women sat across circular tables ensconced in dim lamplight like partners intermingling on the dance floor. Intricate, carved wooden panel walls between the floor-length windows added to the ballroom feel. Servers periodically appeared and disappeared from the folds of a large velvet curtain covering the back of the room with trays and glasses, so what lay behind must be the kitchen. The atmosphere was casual but tasteful, and soft jazz drifted from a hidden gramophone. Sherlock gestured at the nearest attendant for a warmer refill of her beverage, and casually crossed her legs, allowing a little extra breeze to catch on her dress skirt with the motion. She allowed her gaze to drift over the other customers while she waited, toes wriggling in relief as water finally cleared a little from inside her heels. In the background a more familiar song came on...

 _Stars shining bright above you_    
_Night breezes seem to whisper "I love you"_

...A middle-aged woman sipping sparkling water (frugal, or financially restricted) at a table to her left, leg angled towards the empty chair in front of her (waiting). Comfortable well-worn clothing and purse indicate likely meeting a long-time lover or a close friend, boring,

 _Birds singing in the sycamore trees_    
_Dream a little dream of me_

...A young couple further back in the corner shared a wine and a cheese platter, the male is fidgeting and nervous (ring in jacket inner pocket, left over his heart, cliche), the female excited (she probably saw it beforehand) - proposal, dated for a short while, boring,

 _Say nighty-night and kiss me_    
_Just hold me tight and tell me you'll miss me_

...A woman (same age with an error range of 2 years) seated alone at a table across the room, figure partially obscured by the newspapers in her hand (most likely from the stand across the road), only blond hair visible behind the pages she perused and a steaming mug of homemade tea beside a croissant on the table, borin- wait, no. _Interesting._

 _While I'm alone and blue as can be_    
_Dream a little dream of me..._

Sherlock blinked in surprise, the fabric of her blouse sleeves fluttering for a fraction of a second as her attention shifted from air drying them. Why did she stop? What had caught her attention? She examined the evidence again. Her age, lack of company (single), the newspaper, hair colour, beverage, nothing seemed out of place. Normal. Boring. Except Sherlock had subconsciously determined that something was out of plac- the newspaper! A second look confirmed it. The newspaper was completely dry and unfolded. The woman had to have bought it from the stand across the road recently, and yet it shouldn't be possible for it to be untouched by water even if she had transportation, not with the wind as it was. The mug too seemed strange. The homemade tea was steaming hot, but it was very unlikely that any insulation would've been sufficient after traveling in this weather, and then being left in the open. Her jacket and shoes were completely clean and dry, no mud or water splatters to be seen. Stranger and stranger. It was almost as if -

No, she was being ridiculous. Normally Sherlock would never dismiss her deductions so carelessly, but the chances of her meeting another elemental were so negligible they frankly did not even warrant consideration. She was an elemental, a true magician, the only one in the world, and that was that.

The waiter had returned with another cup of Jasmine tea, but Sherlock ignored it and reached for her wallet. She was dry enough, and clearly tired. The storm was unrelenting but at least she would be able to use her skills freely at home. Drying off would only take a few seconds instead of minutes of slight of hand. She stood up, put on her trench coat, and grabbed her umbrella from among the multitudes in stand before heading out the door.

Sherlock mentally braced herself against the cold and wet, wrapping her collar up high against her neck and clutching the umbrella tightly. Luckily it seemed the wind had died down a bit and she walked quickly towards her apartment, only a few minutes away. As she turned the corner, a faint voice called out in the distance. Looking back the streets were empty save for a few runners on their way home like her, so Sherlock kept walking. But the voice slowly became louder.

"Excuse me...excuse me Miss!" Sherlock frowned, puzzled, and turned back. Had she perhaps forgotten something at the shop? Her view was mostly obscured by the rain and the top of the umbrella, but she recognized the figure rounding the distance as the blond haired woman from the shop. The shoes and jacket were identical, though they now had normal water splatters from the rain. Her newspaper, now drenched, was clutched under one arm which also held her mug. Her hair and face were obscured under...Sherlock's umbrella. Sherlock's eyes widened, and then looked closely at the umbrella she was currently using. The wooden handle was similar and the colours were the same, but upon closer inspection there were patterns carved into the wood, and the grip was slightly thicker. But that was the least of what surprised her. Sherlock had assumed that the wind had died down, but that was not true at all. Around her the rain was tossed about and hit the ground at ever changing oblique angles, and yet not a single drop seemed to reach under the dome of the umbrella. Her clothing and shoes were unruffled and dry. She reached out with her hand, sure enough, beyond the boundary of the canopy her hand was immediately drenched, wind and rain combing through her fingers. Yet a clean, straight line demarcated the dry area of the umbrella - one that was ever so slightly greater than its circumference. Sherlock wanted to laugh out loud. _Fascinating._

Sherlock looked up to find the woman with her umbrella stopped in front of her, mug still steaming hot in her hands. She angled Sherlock's umbrella out of the way to reveal her blonde hair (now wet), and shockingly warm caramel eyes which seem to twinkle at Sherlock like the brass bells above the cafe doorway had lifetimes ago. _Beautiful_ \- the thought came unbidden, and Sherlock blushed at her reaction as the woman offered her hand.

"Hello, my name is Joanna. I'm terribly sorry to bother you, but it seems you have my umbrella."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you guys enjoyed reading the story so far! This is part 1 of 2, and I will be doing some major edits as well as finishing this in the coming weeks. I apologize for any awkwardness and spelling/grammar mistakes, I was extremely busy this month but really really wanted to finish this prompt so I churned this out completely last minute. I was inspired by a scene in The Night Circus by Erin Morgenstern, one of my favourite books, the song Dream a Little Dream, and a beautiful photo which I will post later when I figure out how to!  
> Check out @hiatustory on tumblr for new Johnlock theme prompts and fic recs each month, and visit me @hollyberrypie on tumblr if you feel like chatting! :)
> 
> EDIT: Part 2 and Epilogue added, phew!


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I finally finished! Possibly still some edits in the future, but for the most part I feel good about this. Thank you for waiting, and I hope you enjoy!

“I'm terribly sorry to bother you, but it seems you have my umbrella." The woman, Joanne, held out her hand in greeting as she waited patiently for Sherlock’s response. Sherlock took her hand, intrigued. Her warmth was a pleasant spark of sensation against Sherlock’s palm, and their eyes seemed to lock across the space between them. Caramel Sun met cerulean Earth. Two planets crossing paths, slotting into their new orbits as natural as gravity. (though Sherlock could never bother to remember which went around the other). Her fingers tingled, and the place where Johanna’s fingers just brushed the inside of her wrist seem to have strung a thread that connected directly from her pulse to her heart. Sherlock took a steading breath. _Snap out of this daze and focus on the puzzle_ , she chided herself.

“Wilhelmina Sherlock Scott Holmes, traveling magician. I go by Sherlock. Pleasure to make your acquaintance,” Sherlock had been aiming for quiet and unimpressed, but to the words tripped and dangerously close to shy and flustered instead. _Unbelievable._ Johanna smiled, still holding her hand.

“Sherlock,” she greeted. “Thank you for waiting. Usually I wouldn’t chase someone down the street for this kind of thing, but that umbrella is an heirloom of sorts for me, and I would be devastated if it was lost.” She shuffled and adjusted the soggy newspaper under her arm. Perhaps she was not as unaffected as she wished to portray either. A plan for answers quickly took shape.

“Of course,” Sherlock nodded, “your grandmother was clearly very important to you during your childhood in London.” She allowed a charming smile into her expression. “I’m terribly sorry for causing you distress. My apartment is only a few minutes from here. Stop by and let me offer you some warm food and dry clothes.” She refused to glance in the direction of mug, vaguely wondering if she could vanish its insultingly warm contents without being noticed.

“How did –” Johanna’s voice cut off as Sherlock pulled her under the umbrella by their still clasped hands. Before she could react, Sherlock reached around for her own rather ineffective umbrella, folding it up and casually letting the motion carry her arm to rest gently on Johanna’s shoulder. Johanna blinked and seemed to lose her train of thought. She changed her line of inquiry, “but I couldn’t possibly impose-” Sherlock interrupted her again, guiding her slightly closer so that they were both completely out of the rain. She resolutely ignored the sound of her own heart pounding loud enough to reach her ears.

“Please, I insist,” she winked with a tilt of her head ( _for effect, not because she wanted to impress her, of course not_ ), and led the way towards her residence.

She did not see Johanna eye Sherlock’s unknowing blush as she matched her steps and tried to conceal her own grin.

*

“That was amazing!” Johanna exclaimed as they rounded another corner. “I can follow the leap from my accent to my London childhood, but my grandmother? And guessing elemental magic from water stains on and uncrumpled newspaper, that’s just, amazing!” She smiled up ad Sherlock, leaning infinitesimally closer in her excitement. The movement was so subtle Sherlock almost didn’t notice. Almost.

“It was not a guess, it was deduction. A rigorous scientific process I assure you, the same way I monitor my act and my audience, or a detective breaks down a crime scene,” Sherlock huffed. Internally though, she was preening, and she made sure to flair her skirt outwards with her next few steps so that they would float about her more attractively. Conversing with Johanna was much more enjoyable than she expected, and she had already redirected them to a longer route home three intersections ago. She hadn’t even felt irritated when her deduction about the sister Harry Watson turned out to be a brother instead – _“I’m in Paris to check up on him. He ran here to start his own brewery but everyone in the family knows it’s just an excuse for his raging alcoholism,”_ she had sighed, _“but miracle of miracles, he met the love of his life Clair, swore off the bottle and eloped! Just two weeks ago!”_ Sherlock couldn’t help laughing with her at the ridiculous situation, and couldn’t ignore the sinking feeling in her chest when she then revealed she would be flying back tomorrow now that her visit was done. More pressingly, she couldn’t will away the blush she was sure was still colouring her face, had been since two streets back when Johanna had casually slipped a hand in her pocket with an offhand comment about cold fingers and warm dry coats. Surely, she had not fallen so far as to let her transport be affected by these clichéd gestures. Sherlock refused to meet those beautiful caramel eyes staring up at her and looked resolutely forward. _My god, my cheeks feel warm again._

“Of course, pardon my word use,” Johanna replied, sincere. Sherlock’s intelligence was captivating, and yet her hesitant and awkward interactions showed her nerves, and how unfamiliar she was with compliments and flirtation. _She’s a genius, and gorgeous to boot. That blush on those cheekbones! Christ, how did I get so lucky?_ Suffice it to say, Johanna couldn’t keep her eyes off her. “I simply find your abilities so incredible that they seem to surpass science and approach the fantastical. Speaking of which,” she stepped beyond Sherlock’s arm and turned to face her, “I was wondering if you tell me more about elemental magic.” She grinned sheepishly, hoping her request wasn’t rude by some unknown magical social convention. “My grandmother passed away when I was still quite young, and no one else in our family even knew about her gift. I only have these magical objects she’s left with me and some vague childhood memories of her stories. I would love to know more about her and how all this,” she gestured to the mug and umbrella, “works.” Sherlock stopped walking as well.

“It can be hard to explain,” she began, thinking about the theories she had developed over the years about her abilities, and how she tested them through her work. “I’m not sure you would want…” she trailed off, suddenly unsure if she was willing to risk Johanna being put off by her unusual gift, if not already by her character. She had originally planned on playing a part and coercing Johanna into giving her more information on her magical items, but each smile and glowing praise had melted down her carefully constructed veneer as easily as warming butter. It was the first time in recent memory that she had felt so comfortable and content in simply being herself around another person.

“Oh don’t worry about that, I’ve got the whole evening and tomorrow before my flight, the remainder of my time here is yours!” Johanna grinned in excitement. Then, realizing Sherlock’s hesitance and how forward she sounded, she quickly backtracked. “But of course, if this is something that’s considered private, or you don’t feel comfortable…what I mean is, I don’t mean to pry,” she held both her hands up for emphasis. She berated herself for requesting something so clearly personal – they could still be considered strangers!

Sherlock gazed back at Johanna, considered her request. Hundreds, even thousand of people had seen her performances, but this was the first time she would even reveal her gifts without any glamour or false pretense. It did feel very personal. Would Johanna understand what she saw? Would she still smile at Sherlock the same way, so enamoured and sincere, afterwards? Which is not to say Sherlock had been unhappy before today’s meeting. She had The Work, and that had always been enough. Alone was what she knew, what protected her. Should she disturb her peace by blindly falling into sentiment? And yet. The skin where her arm had wrapped over Johanna’s shoulder just seconds ago felt cold under her sleeves. She recalled with clarity the feeling of Johanna’s hand in her trench coat pocket, snug and warm in its proper place. A perfect fit. _I’m not lonely. How would you know?_ She could see her apartment from where they had stopped. There was no more time for delay.

Looking down at that warm, open gaze, she came to her decision. Sherlock took Johanna’s hand. “I’d like to show you, if that’s alright,” her smile was tentative but her grip was firm. Johanna nodded, guessing at the weight of her decision and feeling all the more grateful. Sherlock looked around and pulled them both under the nearest awning, belonging to a bakery shop tucked between two restaurants and out of the way from the main street. By now night had fallen and many of the shops had closed early due to the continuing storm. She evaluated the shuttered windows, looked around at the streetlamps across the street, the people passing their secluded little alcove with nary a notice. “This place should do nicely. Close your eyes.” Johanna hesitated, puzzled. Sherlock reached for her other hand as well, biting her lip. “Do you trust me?”

Johanna smiled. “Yes,” she said simply, realizing the truth of it, and her eyes closed. As she waited, the sound of wind and rain grew muted and silent, the drip drop of water from roofs and into gutters ceased their sounds. Suddenly the air seemed crisp and cool. A gentle breeze carried whispers of pine, conjured in her mind images of forests and flowing rivers and snow capped mountains in the distance.

“You can open them now,” Sherlock squeezed her hands lightly. Johanna did, and gasped. Around her the rainwater seemed to have lost their direction, dancing freely as they came together and split into bodies of water in different shapes and sizes. Dancing spirals, smooth spheres, and faceted jewels cut so sharp they seemed like ice floated free of gravity, perfectly formed for seconds before they dissolved back into raindrops and transformed into something new. The little alcove seemed to glow with refracted light, and Johanna would have believed it then if Sherlock had told her it was early dawn instead of nighttime. The darkened and damp Paris streets outside their little bubble were forgotten, reality rendered a mirage.

“Sherlock,” Johanna breathed in wonder. “This – this is _beautiful_. Ummmm caramel,” her eyes fluttered as another faint breeze wafted the warm scent throughout the alcove.

Sherlock had been caught up in Johanna’s blissful expression, but quickly recovered. “It’s something new I’ve been working on, an illusion of sorts,” she explained, “I started with simple physics, waves, interference, optics, reflection and refraction. I wanted to see how much of it I could apply and use in my techniques with water.” Her breath suddenly became shaky as she felt Johanna’s thumb gently stroke her palm. _Did she know she was doing that?_ “The senses are redirected from a known source you see, same with the smells. The light from the streetlamps can be filtered, concentrated, and distorted, the temperature I can control with air and humidity, and of course the pines come from the public park a few blocks down which could have complicated things because of the distance except I know exactly where the trees are located.” She was babbling now, but Johanna had closed the distance between them with a step and she could not stop, kept babbling, “Although, I do apologize for the caramel, I hadn’t meant to do that but we’re right beside a bakery and I must have been distracted by the colour of your eyes –” she finally fell silent, horrified and embarrassed. Johanna simply reached up and cupped her cheek with one hand.

“Sherlock,” she said, patient. There was that twinkle in her eye again.

“Y-yes?” A failed attempt at nonchalance.

“I would really like to kiss you now, is that okay?” A breath.

“Oh. Okay.” And there was a kiss, gentle and warm, the taste of tea, pine, caramel, and rainy day Paris.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed the story! It was very fun to write, if a little slow at times. Next chapter is the picture I promised from Ch1 which was a big inspiration for me, as well as a short epilogue!
> 
> Check out @hiatustory on Tumblr for more great stories and Johnlock writing challenges, or visit me @hollyberrypie ^_^


	3. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Sweet dreams till sunbeams find you_  
>  Sweet dreams that leave all worries behind you  
> But in your dreams whatever they be  
> Dream a little dream of me __

“Move in with me.”

“Sherlock, I’m returning to London tonight. I can’t stay here without notice.”

“I have a residence in London from which I run my services, 221B Baker Street. We can flat share. I have no attachments here, and every reason to return with you.”

“Every reason?”

“…let me join you on your return flight.”

“Alright, yes. Let’s go see your flat tomorrow.”

“You’re not bothered by the violin by any chance, are you?”

“No love, not at all.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Check out @hiatustory on tumblr for new Johnlock theme prompts and fic recs each month, and visit me @hollyberrypie


End file.
